Lord of the Rings: Exchanged Minds
by elfchicks
Summary: Involves certain persons exchanging minds with other persons. Very much non-canon. At long last, chapter five up.
1. Chapter 1

A/N: This is merely a commonly used plot bunny that involves certain persons exchanging minds with other persons. Therefore, we will not claim that this story "has it all," so to speak, because it certainly hasn't. In other words, it is a bit of insanity that some may find amusing, others not so much. Read at your own risk! (Moreover, please don't complain to us if you don't like it. We warned you!) Thank-you for reading. Oh, and in order to avoid confusion in the case of a person who has changed with someone else, he will be referred to as such: for example, when we say "Legolas/Gimli," we mean that it is Legolas in Gimli's body. It's still exceedingly confusing. Thank-you for bearing with us (We hope).

**Lord of the Rings: the Fellowship of the Exchanged Minds**

_Aranel & Encaitarë; 2006-2010_

Setting: Lothlórien, during the Quest to destroy the Ring, meaning NO Gandalf

Background: After the Fellowship's first meeting with Galadriel. They had been arguing vehemently about trivial matters, and the Lady was not impressed.

In the early hours of the morning, Legolas roused with a start. Glancing around uneasily without sitting up, he noted that the rest of the Fellowship still appeared to be resting peacefully, nestled amongst large piles of delicately woven blankets and soft pillows, in their designated sleeping area of the forest city of Lothlórien. Gimli seemed to have ceased his perpetual, loud, obnoxious snoring, something that, in other circumstances, would have been a cause for concern, but the elf found himself strangely groggy and decided to overlook Gimli's idiosyncrasy. Legolas tried settling, attempting to relax again, but something troubled him still. At a fearful instinct, he quickly raised his hand to feel his face and nearly cried out in alarm. He realized, to his horror, that he had a thick, braided beard trailing down his chest! Looking down, his terror intensified as he saw a stocky, short, dwarfish body dressed in Gimli's familiar armor.

"Noooo!" the former elf cried, rousing most everyone from their repose. Looking around frantically, his gaze fell on a resting figure he took to be himself, still sleeping where he had reclined the night before. He hastily leapt up and stumbled uncharacteristically clumsily over to the sleeping elf, demanding, "Give me back my body!"

Gimli opened his eyes and noted with extreme displeasure that he was being attacked by himself. He commenced yelling in distress. He grew even more concerned when he raised his hands to defend himself and discovered how dainty they were, and afterward, that he seemed to have grown several feet in height and lost a good deal of weight.

Struck with horror, everyone began shouting at once. It appeared that Gimli was attacking Legolas, but every time the dwarf spoke, it was Legolas' voice.

"Desist, you two!" cried Aragorn, only it wasn't coming from the ranger's direction. The voice had come from Pippin! Everyone froze in horror, and looking around anxiously, each saw that something was terribly wrong. Aragorn, peering across the glade, saw himself sitting there looking back at him with about equal or perhaps more surprise. Then, he looked down and noted with astonishment that he was about two-and-a-half feet shorter and wearing Pippin's distinctive scarf. It immediately became apparent that Merry had traded bodies with Sam, Boromir with Frodo, Legolas with Gimli, and Aragorn with Pippin. At this realization, they tried not to panic, and were successful at first. Soon, however, the thought of all the difficulties this little "error" would entail impelled them to discuss in a rather boisterous manner what was to be done. The Fellowship's fight escalated, rapidly resembling a cacophony of angry shouts and wails of protest. When the dispute finally came to blows, everyone brawling like the crazed denizens of Tortuga from "Pirates of the Caribbean," Galadriel conveniently arrived.

"Ah, I see that my design has succeeded just as I planned," she said smugly, not bothering to disguise her pleasure at seeing the generally oh-so-serious Fellowship in such a manner. "I have done this for two reasons. One, because it will teach you to work together, and two, because I needed guinea pigs and you suckers were the first to come along. If the so-called 'Fellowship of the Ring' can ever learn to behave like a fellowship, I will be glad to restore you to your proper selves. However, to place the fate of Middle-earth in your pathetic hands is one of Elrond's worst mistakes, and he knows it. Prove me wrong or plan to retire in Lothlórien in your current states. Oh, and don't bother crying to Elrond – he and I are on the same wavelength. Have fun, kids. Play nice." She glided back towards her majestically elevated, glowing mallorn palace, looking quite self-satisfied.

"Fantastic," said everyone miserably. Those that didn't say this out loud and in unison, as the preceding sentence suggests, doubtless agreed.

Pippin felt sorry for himself until he realized the advantages being Aragorn entailed. He could run faster and jump higher, he was taller and stronger, and most importantly, he could flee faster from the inevitable danger that was sure to follow him because he was still Pippin at heart. Aragorn, on the other hand, was brooding. He wanted nothing more than to have the change reversed. How was he to marry Arwen if he was stuck in Pippin's body? She wouldn't believe him if he told her what had happened, and besides, if he did marry her, he thought that she would probably beat him up a lot because she was stronger. He ran his fingers through his unruly curls of brown hair regretfully, staring at the overabundance of hair adorning his disproportionately large feet.

Meanwhile, Boromir/Frodo had been gleefully fingering the Ring of Power, which dangled from his neck. He chuckled to himself evilly, calculating his next move. He assumed that, what with the Fellowship's current preoccupation with their plight, no one would be concerned about the relatively trivial fate of a small piece of jewelry. The only difficulty would be smuggling it to Gondor – and explaining to Lord Denethor that his much-adored eldest son was now a hobbit.

In the intervening time, Legolas had been shouting furiously at Gimli. The topic: what the dwarf could and could not do now that he was in the elf's body. "You may not knock back any potent beverages of the usual, foul sorts that Dwarves are prone to drink, except dorwinion. You may not smoke, eat so much you make me even the slightest bit overweight, or cut my hair. No exceptions. You must brush my teeth thrice a day, as well as my hair. Perform aerobic and strength exercises for an hour, morning and night, straighten my hair…uh, on second thought, I will do that. I don't trust you. You might fry it. I will style it, as well. Most importantly – I use no hairspray _except_ Aqua Net. The consequences if you use any other hairspray will be dire. In addition, I refuse to allow you to wear any clothing that has not been pre-approved by me, and it must be absolutely spotless. Also, you will not be permitted to sing or speak in public, lest it seem to the Lothlórien Elves that Legolas has lost his singing talents and soft, soothing vocal qualities. To continue, you may not…"

(Several hours later)

"…and finally, you _may not_ appear in public unless you are in PERFECT condition. No exceptions." Legolas stared at the slumped form of the dwarven elf expectantly.

Gimli snorted awake. "Huh? Oh, oh, yes. If I must. Whatever you say." He promptly nodded off again. Apparently, Legolas droning on and on in his ear had an energy draining effect.

"Very well," said Legolas/Gimli, unconvinced that the inobservant former dwarf had committed all his stipulations to heart, but fairly unconcerned that the groggy Gimli could wreak much havoc on his body in the short interval during which he was not supervised. "I go down to the river now to bathe. Good day!"

After several more minutes of loafing, the tired dwarven elf had a fearful thought. "What if that blasted pretty-boy shaves my beard? AHHHH! I must stop him!" He raced down to the river exceptionally quickly for someone who had once been a dwarf. When he arrived, he realized that his suspicion had been well founded. Legolas had shaved off his entire beard, except for a small goatee, which the elven dwarf had felt best optimized Gimli's facial features.

"Noooooo!" growled Gimli wrathfully, tackling his former self. Though, of course, the fact that Gimli was in Legolas' body gave him an advantage, Legolas/Gimli retaliated ardently. They tussled and tumbled in the river for several intense minutes, splashing like clashing killer whales. The only result of their fight seemed to be that, at length, they were both completely soaked and exhausted.

---

In the interim, Sam and Merry were occupied with insulting each other for no apparent reason, except that perhaps it seemed the most entertaining thing with which to occupy their time, while Frodo/Boromir attempted to mollify their tempers by pointing out all of the positive things about the change. "Merry, even though you're slightly overweight now, at least you traded that peculiar looking nose of yours for a more sensible one. And Sam, even though you have a cherry nose now, at least you're not as fat as you were before." This didn't seem to resolve anything, though it allowed Merry and Sam to direct their frustration at Frodo/Boromir, in addition to each other. The two livid Hobbits simultaneously attacked Frodo, but he easily pinned both of them down, having an enormous height and strength advantage. (Clearly, Sam would have _never_ assaulted his beloved Mr. Frodo, but since his former master currently seemed to be Boromir, and Sam was known to be somewhat irrational when angered, he had forgotten about the switch.) However, Merry and Sam managed to slip out of "Boromir's" grip, because the hobbitish Gondorian's gloves made it rather difficult to clasp things effectively. Sam/Merry pulled out his frying pan and decisively clanged Merry over the head with it. Merry, looking like a very dazed Sam, slumped to the ground and started snoring peacefully. Before Sam/Merry could do the same to Frodo/Boromir (assuming Sam could have even reached Frodo/Boromir's head), the man who was once a hobbit pulled out the Horn of Gondor and delivered an echoing, resounding blast in the enraged hobbit's face, rendering him unconscious for the next few hours.

---

Aragorn was busy composing a letter to Arwen explaining what had happened and imploring her to talk her dad into talking Galadriel into switching them back. He pictured Arwen reading it in her room, laughing uncontrollably, reporting to Elrond amidst endless throes of giggles that her fiancé had gone insane, and then deciding to cancel their engagement. He carefully crumpled up the paper and ate it because, being a hobbit, he was hungry.

---

Frodo/Boromir put Merry and Sam back to bed, surrounded by all the Fellowship's pillows and blankets. He felt guilty about having further incited their wrath, and therefore, took it upon himself to care for them until they awoke and he could guide them into a more peaceable solution to their differences. Though in comatose states, they smiled happily, leading Frodo to deduce that they were enjoying pleasant dreams about mushrooming at Farmer Maggot's, cooking "tater" stew, or other food-related topics.

---

Meanwhile, Pippin/Aragorn, being of a slightly more happy-go-lucky nature, was having fun obliterating flowers and other hapless Lothlórien plants with Aragorn's sword as he skipped through the thick groves of trees. He laughed blithely, running, jumping, hopping, and generally enjoying his added height. Not being well adjusted to Aragorn's body at first, he had tripped several times and done embarrassing face plants (fortunately, no one was around to see them, and it's ambiguous whether Pippin would have even cared if anyone did), but he was now growing more accustomed – except that, being Pippin, he was unable to overcome his mischievous, clumsy qualities, things for which no amount of height advantage could compensate…

---

Boromir the hobbit, being of a scheming, devious persuasion, was endeavoring to obtain a horse so he could take the Ring to Gondor. So far, he had miserably failed. He couldn't even _bribe_ anyone to sell him one! "You, sir!" he called, as Celeborn passed, on one of his afternoon strolls. "Have you a spare horse?"

"Why, dear Frodo Baggins!" greeted Celeborn, who was really not as dense as he looked. Visitors to Lothlórien always thought he was slow-minded, since the rapidity of his speech delivery rivaled that of Treebeard. However, the natives of the forest kingdom knew that his slowness of verbal communication was due to the fact that, unlike most people, he actually preferred to think about what he was saying _before_ he said it. "Or should I say 'Boromir'?" Celeborn continued. "It is easy to see through your façade, to your conniving, poorly disguised intentions. The day you return the 'trinket' you are concealing to the genuine Frodo is the day I will provide you with a horse." The elf lord elegantly sauntered away, toward the verdant, vast, and arboreal royal gardens, with their cast iron gates, composed of charmingly curvilinear tendrils, array of gracefully posed statues, and serenely trickling fountains. Boromir/Frodo watched him go with what would have appeared to uninformed passerby as the ugliest look that could have possibly camped itself on Frodo's face.

---

Legolas and Gimli had finally worn themselves out and were standing in the river, facing each other, panting.

"I am… tired," sighed Legolas/Gimli, who had a terrific black eye, a tooth missing, and blood and mud all over his face. He had been striving fiercely not to injure Gimli/Legolas, as he didn't want to harm himself. Therefore, the only thing amiss with Gimli/Legolas was a dirty face, the sight of which Legolas could scarcely bear. "I would never allow myself to get _that_ dirty in any other circumstance!" the elven dwarf thought aloud.

"THAT is it!" roared Gimli, fed up with Legolas' fixation on his personal appearance. "I am going to shave you bald, draw a swirly mustache on your face, and strip down to your underpants, after which I will dash through Lothlórien, allowing every elf who doesn't know it's not really you a distressing sight."

Absolute horror pervaded Legolas/Gimli's features. "Ach! No!" he cried, his mouth gone dry. "You…you wouldn't…you can't…you…you…won't!"

"Would, can, and will," said Gimli resolutely. "You just TRY to stop me." Gimli/Legolas took off sprinting, Legolas/Gimli in hot pursuit. Normally, Gimli wouldn't have had a chance of catching Legolas at a dead run, but the situation was so dire, Legolas thought, that he pushed himself mercilessly until he caught himself, tripping Gimli/Legolas from behind.

"Got you!" shrieked Legolas, hyperventilating. "You're so dead, you revolting, dwarven jerk!" He figured (resignedly) that he would have to knock himself out in order to prevent Gimli from doing anything worse to his body. Before the elven dwarf could pound the dwarven elf, he was pounced on by Aragorn/Pippin. "Desist!" the brawny-ranger-turned-pipsqueak ordered. "Both of you! You know we will never change back if we cannot work together."

"Seems like you always show up just in time to ruin my plans," said Legolas, disgustedly clambering off his pinned self. "Very well. I will not fight with myself. But don't expect me to just stand by as he shaves my head, draws a mustache on my face, and then goes running around Lothlórien shrieking like a maniac—in my underpants!"

Aragorn/Pippin raised an eyebrow questioningly and studied the former dwarf's face. "You were planning to do _what_?"

"Oh, forget it," Gimli/Legolas muttered, defeated. "I won't do it. Even though I should. Look what he did to my beard! And he expects _me _not to care."

"I'm sorry, Lego—Gimli," Aragorn stuttered, still getting confused by the switch. "I'm sure that Legolas will restrain himself from doing anything of the sort again. Right, Legolas?"

Legolas crossed his (uh, Gimli's) arms and frowned. "Fine. I'll do my best. But I reserve the right to keep him under constant supervision, in case he tries anything funny."

"Fine!" Gimli/Legolas grunted grumpily, storming off, back towards the Fellowship's designated camp.

"Uh," Legolas/Gimli said hurriedly, starting to follow the departing elf. "Can you get off my back now, Pip—um…Aragorn?"

"Oh, right!"

---

Pippin/Aragorn hurtled toward the Fellowship in a somewhat peculiar state. It appeared that he had a sticky, dripping beehive stuck on his head. AND a horde of infuriated bees swarming after him. "I don't think I like being tall anymore!" the Pippin-minded ranger complained, voice muffled inside the beehive. "Ow! Ow! YOW!" Everyone dove for cover and watched as Frodo/Boromir attempted to resolve the "sticky" situation.

Frodo skillfully skewered the hive on Boromir's sword as Pippin/Aragorn raced past. The hobbitish Gondorian flung the hive off back into the woods and the majority of the unfortunate bees quickly headed off to inspect their ruined home.

Relieved, Pippin shook the few remaining bees off and cannonballed into an immense, nearby fountain.

"What happened?" questioned Merry/Sam, finally daring to emerge from his hiding place, under a pile of blankets. The answer was obvious enough, but Merry usually took it upon himself to scold his best friend about his dim-witted behavior.

Clambering out of the fountain, Pippin smiled sheepishly, displaying an expression that looked rather comical on Aragorn's face. "I climbed a tree to try to get some honey from a beehive, but it fell on my head when I poked it with my sword."

"Well," said Merry/Sam, "we can certainly tell the difference between you and Aragorn. The REAL Aragorn would never do anything so stupid!"

---

Soon, Legolas, Gimli, and Aragorn/Pippin returned to the others and sat down. Legolas and Gimli absolutely refused to look at each other, sulking.

"So, what are we going to do now?" asked Aragorn/Pippin cheerfully, ever one to voice what everyone else was thinking but reluctant to ask. Things were not looking good for the Fellowship of the Ring, and one thing was for certain: as it stood, altering Galadriel's opinion on their incompatibility long enough to convince her to change them back was a near impossibility.


	2. Chapter 2

**Chapter II **

The next day, Gimli/Legolas, still fuming about Legolas' underhanded behavior, was hatching a plot. While Legolas had threatened to keep the dwarven elf under constant supervision, Gimli had no trouble giving the elven dwarf the slip, due to Legolas/Gimli's loss of his elven faculties of heightened senses. "I'll show him! Nobody shaves a dwarf's beard! Nobody!" Gimli reached into his haversack and grabbed out his special supply of fabled dwarf hair tonic, applied the solution to his face, and walked around Lothlórien, proudly showing off his new look. Everyone would see pretty-boy Legolas with a shaggy dwarf beard! 

---

Meanwhile, Merry and Sam were getting along slightly better, thanks to Frodo/Boromir, and only rarely had a relapse of anger at their misfortune. They made some fish stew, which they ate with relish, and generally accompanied each other everywhere, often to obtain more cooking supplies and ingredients. As they clearly were not causing any trouble, the local Elven population (which was completely in the dark about the switch) was only too happy to donate provisions to them, though they wondered why Boromir was suddenly associating exclusively with the Hobbits and had such a high, boyish voice.

---

"Hello, Legolas!" said Gimli/Legolas, approaching the elven dwarf from behind. Legolas/Gimli turned around and shrieked in horror. "What have you done to my face?!" he screamed hysterically, covering his (er, Gimli's) eyes with his hands and hardly daring to peek through his fingers.

"I gave you a dwarven makeover!" replied Gimli, smugly. "Do you like it?"

"Do I like it? Do I _like _it?!" Legolas' pitch grew increasingly higher. "Are you cracked? You have destroyed my face! It's horrible! I cannot bear to look at you…I mean _me_. Oh, my poor face. I hate beards! They're hairy and dirty and… and…"

Legolas would have punched Gimli, but he did not want to exacerbate his face's sorry condition any more than Gimli had already done. So instead, he just stomped away screaming, wringing his hands, and generally throwing a tantrum. "This means war!" he growled vehemently to himself.

---

Boromir/Frodo, undaunted by Celeborn's derision, strolled to the impressively designed, very large stable and crept inside. Therein were about a dozen fine-looking horses in separate stalls, but no people in sight, except a single guard, his back turned – a perfect target for a thrown apple! The guard rendered unconscious, Boromir/Frodo was free to choose a steed. He decided upon a sturdy chestnut mare, and with the help of a nearby hay bale, leapt astride his selection. Unfortunately, however, this particular horse was used to Elves, not Hobbits, and jumped from a standstill into a frightened gallop. After Boromir had regained consciousness, he found himself lying ignominiously in a mud puddle outside the stable.

---

Meanwhile, Legolas had been busy revamping Gimli's look. "Now," he said, "to finish my plan. So Gimli wants some facial hair, huh?" He grabbed a marker and began to draw several swirly French mustaches on his face, after which, he got dressed in the strangest way possible. He put his socks on his hands, his trousers around his neck, like a scarf, wrapped his jacket around his waist, and then wrapped his belt around his head. "There—perfect!" he exclaimed, peering into a nearby mirror pool. He turned and took a deep breath. "Here I go!" Emerging from behind a large tree, he released a piercing, prolonged yodel. The elven dwarf proceeded to tear through all of Lothlórien, howling and acting like a complete maniac, allowing every elf in sight a most disagreeable spectacle.

---

Pippin/Aragorn should have learned his lesson after the umpteenth time that his crazy plans rarely succeeded. This time, however, he was not trying to steal honey from angry bees, but vegetables from an elven garden. Unfortunately, robbing Farmer Maggot was about the sorry apex of his thieving career. Therefore, he did not get far. When he tried to carry out his not-very-well-thought-out plan, he was easily spotted by a passing elf.

"Hey, you!" the elf shouted. "What are you doing? Get out of there!"

Just then, Legolas/Gimli whisked by, shrieking.

Pippin was stunned. "Gimli?" However, he decided to use this wacky occurrence to his advantage. While the elf was thus occupied, observing with obvious amusement the bizarre figure galloping away, Pippin escaped with his arms full of assorted vegetables. He rushed all the way to the Fellowship's clearing, where he found Frodo, Merry, and Sam. The latter two looked at him hungrily (well, rather at his _vegetables_), and then promptly relieved him of his goods.

---

When Boromir had picked himself up out of the mud, he first washed his (well, Frodo's) face and clothes in the river, then resumed his dignified air as he returned to the others. He had decided that being short sucked. There was no way he would make it to Minas Tirith without a horse, and it seemed that all the horses here were in league with the Lady's schemes, and would therefore be no use to him, except to result in his being deposited in the either conveniently located or ubiquitous mud puddles of Lórien. He would have to come up with another plan.

---

In the interim, Aragorn/Pippin had been busy imploring Galadriel to restore his true self. "How do you expect me to marry Arwen in Pippin's body?" he pleaded. "She would never believe me if I told her. She would just think that Pippin had a peculiar talent for imitating voices!"

Galadriel appeared to savor this fact immensely. She had been engaged in one of her frequent sunbathing sessions on the top deck of her Royal Mallorn when Aragorn-turned-Pippin had disturbed her with his petty concerns, and was growing wearied of his pestering.

"But…but…if you care about nothing else," said Aragorn, desperately, "at least consider what our children will look like!"

Galadriel peered at him oddly, as if he were dancing around in Tom Bombadil's yellow boots, and frowned. She slathered on more suntan lotion and rolled on her beach chair so that her back was to him.

Undeterred, the hobbit rushed around to the other side of the chair. "Well?" he prodded. "You have to admit it. That _is _a legitimate concern."

They heard a familiar voice approaching them from behind. "I love Galadriel! Mweeheehee! Look at me!" Aragorn and Galadriel turned to see a demented-looking Gimli (actually Legolas) sprinting up the steps on to the deck, flailing his arms and hooting and hollering absurdities. When the crazed, panting figure reached them, he stopped to smooch Galadriel, then sheared off laterally, back down the thousands of stairs to the main portion of the city. Galadriel and Aragorn/Pippin looked dazed.

A few minutes later, Gimli/Legolas came running up the steps, looking about as crazy as Gimli had. The elvish dwarf sported a hot pink mohawk and excessively hairy arms and legs, thanks to Gimli's special tonic and some dye. Gimli/Legolas had also put just enough of the tonic on Legolas' face to grow a beautiful blonde mustache, which he curled artistically with scented oils, until it was a perfect French mustache.

---

The day ended with rather unusual mayhem, as Gimli and Legolas stopped at nothing to avenge themselves.

First, Gimli/Legolas surreptitiously dropped a banana peel atop a smooth flight of stone steps, then hid and watched with glee as Legolas/Gimli slipped down the stairs upon aforementioned banana peel, alternately cursing, screaming, and "oof-ing" as he hit each step, only to land face-first in a conveniently placed mud-pie at the end.

Sometime after this, a big, juicy, BBQ ham appeared under a smaller mallorn tree. It was only after Gimli/Legolas took the bait that he discovered it was a tree snare. Legolas handily broke cover from somewhere to jeer at him.

Subsequent to this event, Gimli/Legolas disguised himself as an evil clown (complete with rainbow-hued clown wig, red and white face paint, and fake fangs) and raced past Haldir's window three or four times.

Once Legolas learned of this awful display, he chased Gimli to the shores of the Anduin, wielding a bar of soap. For revenge, Gimli consumed all of Legolas' truffles from his haversack, and then belched in his face, after which Legolas made himself a necklace of daisy chains to wear gaudily around his dwarven neck.

When Gimli saw this, he crept into Galadriel's bathroom and abducted her makeup and jewelry, allowing a palace guard to see him, and then smeared the makeup liberally over Legolas' face, after which he pierced Legolas' eyebrows, nose, ears, and lip with garish hoop earrings.

At this ghastly sight, Legolas flew into a wild rage and pinned Gimli to the wall with an arrow. Once Gimli had freed himself, he confiscated all of Legolas' shampoo and dumped it in the river (the fish were strangely deformed thereafter).

After this event, Legolas/Gimli made off with Gimli's diary (the secret "I may have to kill you" sort) and began reading it over a bullhorn outside Galadriel's bedroom window.

Before the day was through, Gimli and Legolas found time for a mud fight, a food fight, a paint fight, and a pillow fight, after which they "tarred and feathered" themselves and raced through Lothlórien, squawking like chickens.

Celeborn was making his weekly round through the city in his cart, when— _Erch!_ "What was that?" demanded the elf-lord, spilling dorwinion down the front of his royal blue robe.

"Pardon me, sir!" exclaimed the chauffeur, a young, timid elf with a high, mellifluous sort of voice. "We nearly hit a chicken!"

"A _chicken_?" questioned Celeborn incredulously. "Those are quite large 'chickens.' What, may I ask, have we been feeding them?" The elf-lord sighed rather angrily. "Clearly, my wife's object lesson has gone too far. This will not do."

---

"Galadriel, my wife!" Celeborn called, striding into the queen's immaculate study. "Are you not aware of the Fellowship's recent activities? This is getting ridiculous. I hear that the elf and dwarf have wreaked havoc across Lothlórien, creating upsetting displays that are resulting in an enormous uptick in the amount of Elves requiring therapy."

Galadriel just stared. She liked to stare to prove her point, only her point was rather ambiguous at the moment, so she finally said, "You are meddling in my affairs, husband. So—"

Celeborn peered at her strangely, cocking his head to one side—rather like an animal, thought bystanders. Suddenly, the elf-lord went down on all fours and leapt out the door, hooting and shrieking like an ape.

"He has lost his mind," stated a nearby elf in manifest disbelief.

"No, his mind is not lost," said Galadriel, with a clever smirk. "Just replaced, until he can learn to respect my unconventional manner of accomplishing positive outcomes."

---

Meanwhile, Pippin/Aragorn sat in the quiet comfortableness of the bole of a mallorn. He was in want of a nap, he decided, but it seemed that he couldn't get to sleep, what with all the bizarre shrieking and yelling that seemed to be pervading the Lórien atmosphere. He tried counting leaves. "22…23…24…" This went on without fruition until he heard a peculiar cry nearby. He leapt clumsily to his feet, and after fumbling at his sword belt for a while, awkwardly drew Aragorn's sword. "Who's there?"

A strange monkey approached and studied him carefully, then— "She—she turned me into an ape!" The voice was Celeborn's. "Of all things, an ape!"

"Wha—?" Pippin's (or rather, Aragorn's) eyes widened. "It's a talking monkey… yahhhhhh! Help!" The hobbitish ranger dropped his sword and dashed away.

The monkey gave chase. "Wait! Please wait! It's me—Celeborn! She turned me into an ape!"

Pippin stopped running and turned. "Y—you? Celeborn? AHHHHHHHHHHH! Merry! Help! Help!"

THUD. Celeborn winced with vicarious pain as Pippin ran straight into a tree.


	3. Chapter 3

**Chapter III**

The next morning, Gimli and Legolas were still recovering from the day before's exhausting events. Legolas/Gimli reclined on a soft patch of grass, while Gimli/Legolas found a slab of gray stone sufficient for the purpose. After several hours of shameless loafing, the two finally pulled themselves together enough to speak civilly.

"What are we _doing_?" demanded Legolas, absently smudging one side of the drawn-on mustache on his (or rather, Gimli's) face.

Gimli was initially unforthcoming. "I don't know," he finally grunted, simply.

Legolas smudged the other side of the mustache. "Well," he said softly, "it seems to me that the only way we'll ever have this change reversed is if we get along—for now. Once we are back to normal, we can resume our exclusive war. Agreed?"

Gimli found this idea to his liking. "All right."

"Great!" said Legolas, relieved. "Now will you please take all those unsightly piercings out of my face, shave off the beard, and otherwise fix the mess you've made of me?"

The dwarven elf was reluctant to acquiesce, but if he could use it as a bargaining chip, it might be worth it. "Only if you'll use my dwarf hair tonic to regrow my beard and fix all the stuff you've done to me."

"Fine." Legolas gave in. "But don't expect me to start behaving like a dwarf!"

"And don't expect me to behave like an elf."

_Of course I wouldn't!_ Legolas thought. _Elf is _several _steps up from dwarf – that would be too much of a challenge. _Ordinarily, he would have said something like this aloud, but he didn't want Gimli to rescind his side of their mutual agreement, especially since the elven dwarf was desperate to see himself looking semi-normal again.

---

Meanwhile, Pippin/Aragorn and Celeborn/monkey were getting along quite nicely now, as Pippin had grown accustomed to conversing with a primate (maybe he hit his head a little too hard). They began to conspire as to how they could switch themselves back.

"I've got it!" declared Pippin. "Why don't we sneak up behind Galadriel and jump on her! Then we can tie her to a chair and tickle her until she agrees to change us back!"

"Young hobbit," Celeborn chuckled, not unkindly, "while it is certainly a clever proposal, I do not believe that it would succeed."

"Why not?" The quixotic Pippin was unconvinced.

"Unfortunately," the monkey explained slowly, "my wife has superlative telepathic capabilities, and is impossible to 'sneak up behind,' as you put it."

Pippin sighed, remembering Galadriel's uncanny powers. "Oh, yeah. I forgot."

---

Frodo had recently begun losing sleep over the fate of the Ring that he had formerly carried. He felt that it should be restored to him, since he still had a suspicion that Boromir/Frodo was not trustworthy, but the others' preoccupation with their current troubles had apparently superseded their commitment to prioritize the quest. Who knew what the overbearing man of Gondor might do with it? He had claimed to have no interest in it, but Frodo knew far better than _that_. He knew that Boromir would use it, given the chance. Something had to be done, and since he didn't see anyone else volunteering, he figured he was the one to do it. Spotting Boromir/Frodo sitting on a stone bench in the Fellowship's glade, he waited until he was sure no one else was around to witness, then approached himself. "Hello, Boromir!" he exulted, endeavoring futilely to veil his less-than-friendly intentions.

Boromir looked up to see himself walking toward him, his face plastered with a wicked grin. Apparently missing the obvious clue in the hobbitish Gondorian's expression, Boromir/Frodo was about to respond equally cordially, but was abruptly cut short when his former self suddenly tackled him.

"The Ring is mine!" Frodo shouted, grappling at Boromir/Frodo's neck. "It should be mine. Give it to me!"

"No!" Boromir roared, struggling to put on the Ring.

"Give me the Ring!" Frodo hadn't meant to make such a commotion, but it seemed that as he strove to acquire forcibly the accursed piece of jewelry, a madness took him.

Boromir's attempt to escape failed, since Frodo made good use of his superior height and weight, pinned his adversary's hands with one of his hands, and broke the chain upon which the Ring dangled. Then, he snatched the accursed Thing he sought and shoved it in his pocket, racing away as fast as his legs could carry him. Boromir/Frodo gave up pursuit after half a mile.

---

Merry/Sam was stirring some of his new stew when Boromir/Frodo came rushing in. "Hello, Fro—uh, Boromir!" exulted Merry. "What are you about?"

"I've been robbed," was the indignant reply.

"Robbed? What happened?" asked Merry, somewhat concerned, but equally wary.

"Frodo took the Ring from me!" Boromir retorted irately. "First he takes my body, now he takes my Ring. He is a thief, I tell you, a thief!"

"That's too bad, Boromir," Merry feigned genuine commiseration. He knew that if Frodo had reclaimed the Ring, it was with good reason. However, he did not want to upset Boromir unduly, especially since the former Gondorian was clearly not in a pleasant mood. Merry decided to offer him something that (he felt) would more than compensate for the loss of the silly little Ring. "How about some stew?"

Boromir sneered at him, again creating an expression that looked simply dreadful on Frodo, and stormed away.

---

Sam/Merry had been concerned about Frodo lately. He didn't seem to be well rested in the mornings and often muttered unintelligibly to himself. Sam had even caught the hobbitish Gondorian carrying on a silent, but heated rant! When questioned, he always dismissed Sam's fears and accused him of paranoia. This hurt Sam's pride, but he told himself that it was worth it to endure a little scolding if it would help his poor, troubled master in any way. However, on this particular morning, when Sam woke up, Frodo was nowhere to be found. Well, to be honest, "Frodo" was there, but Boromir, who embodied the real Frodo, was absent. Sam had searched for hours, but to no avail. He had hunted through all the city, even knocking on doors in his desperation. At one point, he spotted Pippin heading up the seemingly endless curving steps of the Royal Mallorn, doubtless to importune Galadriel, and thought this odd, until he remembered that it wasn't Pippin, but Aragorn. Frodo, however, was nowhere to be found. At last, Sam grew too hungry and weary to lengthen the search and started back to home base – the Fellowship's glade.

---

Meanwhile, Merry/Sam, having finished cooking for the day, was out searching for the absent Pippin/Aragorn. "Pippin! Pip? Where are you?" he called, pulling apart hedges and upending stones in his hunt. "Come on! You had better not be hiding from me!" Suddenly, a monkey swung down from a tree limb, immensely startling him.

"No need to fear," said the monkey, who was, of course, Celeborn.

Merry had shut his (or Sam's) eyes and was swatting blindly at the monkey, as if it were a pesky insect. His face was contorted in what appeared to be a silent scream.

Celeborn sighed at Merry's entertaining reaction and forged ahead. "I'm not really a monkey. I am actually Celeborn. My body has been exchanged with that of an ape by my wife, who, as I'm certain you're aware, has gone mad. Your friend, Pippin, and I had been conversing for the last several hours, but he grew hungry and returned to camp. As should you."

Merry at last managed to pry Sam's eyes open. "Oh. So you're really Lord Celeborn? Things are getting very strange around here, I must say. Well, I guess I'll be heading back then. What are you going to do?"

Celeborn shrugged. "I suppose I will stay here in the trees until my wife comes to her senses. If I return and confront her, who knows what she'll switch me with then? Besides, the life of a monkey is, in some respects, more amusing than the life of an elf-lord."

---

In the interim, Frodo/Boromir, who had reclaimed the Ring _and_ gone off the deep end, was holed up in an isolated cave he had discovered near the Anduin. "My precious!" he said fondly, as he caressed the Ring. "My own! My love! It's mine! My own! My precious!" He concealed himself inside his secluded grotto for several days, and in this relatively short amount of time, his clothes became rags, his teeth began to rot, and some of his hair fell out, leaving him almost bald. He forgot the taste of bread, the sound of trees, and the softness of the wind. He even forgot his own name. He now ate only bugs, worms, and bats and took to constantly stroking the Ring and hissing about his "Precious."

---

On Galadriel's orders, Haldir and the rest of the guards were busy trying to capture Legolas and Gimli, who were cooperatively running rampant across Lothlórien, holding picket signs that displayed such memorable phrases as "Give me back my body!", "Galadriel is evil!", and "Don't make me live in a dwarf/elf body!". Those who did not know what had happened to them thought that Legolas had gone completely batty and resolved to stay away from him thereafter. Assuming that most of the denizens of Lórien did not have a clue about the Fellowship's plight, it is easy to understand why they were puzzled as to the travelers' recent behavior. Galadriel wouldn't have cared about their antics, but she did not want all of Lothlórien discovering the truth about her private "experiment," and was thus forced to take action.

How the dwarf and elf team managed to elude the elves assigned with their capture for as long as they did is a mystery, indeed. However, eventually, Haldir and his guard taskforce cornered the picketers back at their glade, along with the rest of the crazed Fellowship (except Frodo/Boromir).

"Oh dear!" cried Pippin, fumbling at Aragorn's sword, clumsily drawing it and promptly dropping it.

"What did you guys do?" Aragorn asked, glaring accusingly up at Legolas and Gimli, who quickly tossed their signs off into the bushes and offered cheesy grins.

Gimli/Legolas gulped. "We're doomed." They all had just noticed Galadriel's well-timed arrival. She smiled triumphantly. For all the trouble the whacked-up Fellowship had been causing, the entertainment was still better than most of what she got here in Lórien anyway (usually a stupid, mushy soap opera or Celeborn trying to sing and play a lyre…) However, behind the pleased countenance, Legolas/Gimli perceived that she was slightly vexed. _Probably because her beauty supplies have been confiscated_, he thought.

That _was_ true, but she likely missed Celeborn as well. She had learned that someone that resembled Celeborn but hooted like an ape had been seen near Mirkwood running around insanely, swinging from trees. This was personally degrading to her, as he was her husband, and it gave her a bad reputation. It perturbed her because she was always trying to impress King Thranduil with her illustrious position, powers, and husband and _this_ was not impressive. She resolved to remedy the situation by sending her guards to capture the primate-minded Celeborn, bring him back, and keep him locked up until she deemed it appropriate to return his right mind. Maybe the Mirkwood Elves would think they had been hallucinating…she hoped. "Haldir."

Haldir sheathed his sword and knelt before his Lady.

Galadriel continued. "I have a task for you. Assemble a squad of your most capable warriors and order them to hasten to the fringes of Mirkwood. They are to seek out my husband Celeborn and return him to me. They may encounter these difficulties: he will have uncommon prowess in swinging from trees, he will probably resist capture, and he may try to argue. They are to disregard anything he says… assuming they can understand him. Get to it!"

Haldir showed obeisance and lightly touched his fingers to his chest. Then he arose and went immediately to his task.

Galadriel smirked, then turned on the amused Fellowship members. "What are you looking at? Been having a lovely time, I imagine?" She smiled in her elusive way. "As it is, I am growing weary of this whole affair and the reasons for instigating it now seem rather imprudent. I am aware that one of you is holding my beauty supplies for ransom."

Everyone pointed at each other.

"That's what I thought." Galadriel's equanimity shattered. "You give them back to me now, OR ELSE!"

"Or else _what_?" Pippin/Aragorn just had to ask. Perhaps inhabiting a large, filthy ranger's body made him feel overconfident.

"You _dare_ to ask me of the consequences, you grimy, hideous human?!" Galadriel had apparently forgotten that it was Pippin. "You appalling, revolting thief of my granddaughter! You accomplished hypnotist!" (She figured that was the only way he could have convinced Arwen to marry him.) "Why I ought to…ought to…" Galadriel had all but put on boxing gloves.

"Now, now," said Legolas/Gimli, stepping in front of her, "it was just a simple question."

"Then he shall get a simple answer," replied Galadriel, feathers decidedly ruffled. "Give them back to me or else…DOOM!"

"Yikes!" said everyone in unison, taking the hint early.

Legolas took charge. "Alright everyone! Two choices: flee for your lives or…PLAN B!"

"Flee for my life!" said Pippin/Aragorn, turning to run, his arms out in front of him.

Legolas turned, grabbed the hobbitish ranger by the back of his cloak, and pulled him back. "What did you say?"

"I meant Plan B," said Pippin, laughing nervously.

"Right!" said Legolas. "Plan B!"

While Galadriel stood there wondering what Plan B could possibly be, she made a big mistake. She was curious. She should have run while she had the chance.

Suddenly, with fearsome battle cries, the demented Fellowship surrounded and tackled her!

"Aaahhh! You can't do this to me! I'm a queen!"

"Switch us back! Switch us back! Switch us back! Switch us back! Switch us back!" the attackers chanted psychotically.

"Stop!" protested Galadriel. "You know I can't _stand_ psychotic chanting! Guards! Guards!"

From somewhere up in the trees (probably in guard telain), fifteen guards leapt down and came to Galadriel's aid.

One was Orophin, Haldir's brother. "All right, all right, desist from assailing the queen, you creeps!"

"It's not our fault we're creeps!" countered Legolas/Gimli from the bottom of the pile. "It's all her fault!"

"Oh, I see," said Orophin unbelievingly. "Very well. Elves, protect the queen!" He and his guards leapt upon the queen's assailers and hauled them off, but not without several bruises, black eyes, and sprained limbs.

Legolas wrenched away. "You'll never take me alive!"

Though Orophin wondered at Gimli's exceptional talent at imitating Legolas' voice, he had no choice. He aimed his bow at the elvish dwarf.

"Uh…" said Legolas. "Of course, if you want to take me alive, we could work it that way, too."

"Take them away," said Galadriel, refusing the hands that tried to help her up. She attempted to regain her dignified image, but the dirt and grass stains all over her formerly sparkling white dress didn't help. "Throw these would-be assassins in the dungeon until I can decide on a fitting fate…"

"Would saying 'I'm sorry' help?" Legolas hoped.

"I'm afraid not," said Orophin. "You are all in serious trouble."

"Hey, I wanted to say that!" yelled Rumil, Haldir's other brother. "How come you get all the good lines? I always have to say stupid captain obvious stuff!"

"Oh, shut it!" snarled Galadriel.

---

"Well, I'm afraid this is the end," sighed Legolas, looking out through the cast iron prison bars. "Friends, I harbor no ill will toward you at all – okay, maybe a _little_ toward Gimli, but still – I do not wish to go out looking like this."

"Such low self-respect, Gimli!" a strangely familiar, elder male voice intoned.

"Huh?" grunted Gimli, searching around for the speaker.

"Gandalf?" questioned Legolas, withdrawing his stubby dwarvish hands from the bars and shrinking back. "You're…you're…a ghost!"

The newly arrived wizard's eyes widened. "Gimli? Your voice…. Are you all right? I could have sworn that Legolas said that! Legolas, have you been dabbling in ventriloquism?"

"But, Gandalf!" Legolas cried, still trembling at the sight of the "ghostly" Gandalf. "You fell! How could you possibly have survived? And you're all white and shining – you _must_ be a ghost."

"What?" said Gandalf. "Oh yes, that. No, no, I'm very much alive. I would tell you the story in its entirety, were it not insipid and overlong. Here you are, my good dwarf. Have a file."

Before Legolas could get it, Gimli snatched it through the bars and began to file fervently away at the metal, cackling evilly.

"Yeesh, Gimli, don't you know _anything_?" Legolas rolled his (or rather Gimli's) eyes. "You should file away at the hinge! If you try to file the bars it'll take way too long!"

"Oh…okay." Gimli moved to the hinges.

Gandalf, again taken aback at Legolas and Gimli's apparent voice switch, asked, "Now will someone be so kind as to explain how you are doing these voice… stunts?"

Legolas all but began bawling as he melodramatically recounted the entire ghastly switcheroo saga to the flabbergasted wizard. "And now we're stuck in this cell," the elven dwarf finished, wiping at tears, "awaiting our cruel fate at the hands of Lórien's insane, sadistic queen."

Gandalf shook his head in incredulity. "I never would have expected such behavior of a venerated and powerful member of the elder race, but perhaps Sauron has finally gotten to her. In any case, we must escape from this prison and find somewhere to regroup until we can decide on a course of action."

Aragorn finally spoke, startling the wizard, who still wasn't quite used to the switch. "That sounds like a feasible strategy. If only the sentinels do not return for a while longer."

"Not to worry, my good ranger… er, hobbit," faltered Gandalf. "I took care of them on my way in. They'll not wake until well into tomorrow, I think."

"Um…Gandalf," said Legolas. "No offense, but, why are you wearing a pink, fur-trimmed bathrobe?"

"It's Galadriel's," admitted Gandalf sheepishly. "I somehow misplaced my clothes in the fight with the Balrog so, naturally, I was rather desperate."

"This is going pretty slowly," commented Pippin. "Can't you just blast the bars away with your magic, Gandalf?"

"No!" Gandalf barked gruffly. He hated it when others treated his magical powers as if they were a standard solution for common, petty problems. Moreover, he thought Pippin was, as a rule, a nuisance. "I only use my powers in situations of utmost need, not because you are too impatient to wait while someone files through metal hinges!"

"This new Gandalf is grumpier than the old one…" murmured Gimli, continuing with the filing.


	4. Chapter 4

**Chapter IV**

_A/N: Wow. NEVER thought this story would end up this long. Is it just me, or is the chapter length experiencing exceptional growth? _

The early morning's light filtered palely through the dense canopy of mallorn leaves and illuminated the jail cell, revealing that the caged Fellowship had vacated the premises. Several worthy (but inattentive) guards were rapidly demoted to the ranks of the common soldiery. Search parties scoured the area, but to no avail. The fugitives were nowhere to be found.

When the ill news reached Galadriel's ears, she glowered at Haldir, as if she could rest the blame entirely on her march-warden's sturdy shoulders, though she had suspected Gandalf might interfere with her plans (she knew it was Gandalf's doing because he had left her a note when he "borrowed" her bathrobe). He always was one to stick his nose in everyone else's business. "Explain your negligence!" she demanded of the loyal Haldir, who practically quaked with fear and remorse. "You were charged with guarding them! Pray tell how those clumsy, inept fools outwitted you!"

Haldir gulped and looked around pleadingly, hoping someone might stand in his defense. How he detested failing his Lady! Finally, he worked up enough courage to reply. "Forgive me, my Lady! I am afraid that my occupation with other matters prevented me from fully fulfilling my duty. I should have, at regular intervals throughout the night, assured that the guards were wholly vigilant." He conveniently neglected to elaborate on the fact that the "other matters" concerned his being totally wasted on dorwinion during the night's festivities – one of Lórien's many wild parties.

"Excuses do not become you, Haldir," Galadriel admonished, savoring her head warrior's abasement and trepidation. "Locate and retrieve them at once, lest you exhaust my leniency and force me to turn you into a dwarf – or worse."

Haldir's legs trembled as he bowed low in assent and dashed out the door and down the winding staircase of the giant mallorn. Whether it was the love of his Lady or simple fear of her threats that provided the driving force behind his incredible speed, this author does not know, but whatever the case, it was clear Haldir was determined not to fail Galadriel again.

* * *

Meanwhile, the Fellowship, minus Frodo/Boromir, was laying low in the Lórien sewer. While the scent didn't assault the nostrils quite as badly as that of a human or dwarf sewer might have, it was still far from a pleasant place to languish. The eight rather deranged looking inhabitants of the small, vaulted tunnel sat chiefly in silence, awaiting a breakthrough. As it was, they were stuck. They had debated endlessly throughout the night, hoping to solve their predicament. They had sprung themselves out of jail, yes, but they were still in the same boat as before and it was unlikely that the spell would dissipate any time soon.

Gimli suggested making a break for the woods, but none of the others were of the same opinion.

"What?" Legolas had squawked. "And be this way permanently? Are you out of your dwarven mind?" Everyone else was inclined to agree with Legolas in this regard. While there was still a possibility of escaping Lothlórien, they had no assurance that Galadriel would pay any heed to Elrond or anyone else from whom they solicited aid in convincing the Lady of Light to reverse the spell. Gimli finally grunted assent. He didn't want to be a pretty elf. He realized that for all his efforts to uglify Legolas, he hadn't succeeded, outside of making the elf look freakish. Perpetual prettiness was just something genetically embedded in the Elves. That was something Gimli knew he couldn't tolerate much longer, let alone permanently.

Finally, the wizard in pink pulled out his pipe and began pensively puffing out smoke rings. This went on for some time, while the others waited expectantly for their fearless leader to come up with a plan of attack. Apparently, Gandalf's smoking was a cue that he was about to be brilliant.

"Well…?" Aragorn/Pippin queried, at length. The others were growing a little impatient, as well, excluding the Hobbits – Pippin/Aragorn, Sam/Merry, and Merry/Sam were curled up on the stone floor, snoring loudly.

Gandalf stiffened sharply, as if startled awake from a light sleep. He grimaced, massaged his chin thoughtfully, then pronounced emphatically, "We need a plan."

Pippin/Aragorn shot awake, eager to share an idea he had been mulling over while he'd been drifting in and out of consciousness. He opened his mouth to speak, when Gandalf, sensing his intention, snorted and said sharply, "A good plan."

Pippin sighed disappointedly, reclined, and went back to sleep.

Aragorn spoke up. "I have a bit of an idea."

"Well then, out with it!" Gandalf demanded gruffly. The thick smoke from his pipe had filled the low-ceilinged tunnel and was causing everyone to hack, but the wizard didn't care. Unfortunately, lung cancer awareness programs were not widespread at this time.

"What we must do, my friends," Aragorn began boldly, as if to rally the troops, "is cease our pointless bickering. We must work together. And we must behave maturely." He glanced meaningfully over at Legolas and Gimli, who were engaged in a heated pinching war, and cleared his throat. "Together, we will make Galadriel come to her senses. Together, we will overcome the challenges that face us! Together, we will bring this madness to an end!"

Boromir/Frodo smirked at Aragorn's inspiring speech, resenting the former ranger's assumed claim on the leadership of the group. He figured that whatever plan Aragorn produced was doomed to failure, but it might be worth a try – especially if he didn't have to put himself on the line in any way.

The three Hobbits continued to snooze throughout Aragorn's rousing speech and following explanation of his plan. Gandalf sat and said nothing, still smoking like a chimney. Gimli and Legolas agreed to stop fighting long enough to hear Aragorn's idea. The morning passed slowly as (most of) the Fellowship prepared to carry out their newest and evilest scheme yet.

* * *

Not far away, above ground, Frodo/Boromir decided to leave his cave and inspect the surrounding woods, in hopes of locating more substantial food than worms and grubs. He had tried to catch fish, but his anorexia resulted in limbs too ungainly and weak to provide the necessary skill. "We are famished, my precious! Yes, we are," he whimpered pitifully, shambling toward Lothlórien on all fours.

* * *

Back in the sewer, Aragorn and the others had added the last few touches to their getup. They had all decked themselves out in the darkest clothing they could snatch from unsuspecting Elves' clotheslines, black and green paint, and leafy camouflage. Legolas nearly shed tears when he witnessed Gimli mercilessly tangling leafy branches in his once silky, lustrous hair, dunking his head in black paint, and then rolling in one of Lothlórien's rare, yet expediently close puddles of sludge. For unspoken revenge, Legolas made it a point to knot the dirtiest clumps of moss and twigs he could find in Gimli's newly grown beard and hair, insuring that it would take weeks to extricate all the filthy material. He would have rolled in the same pile of sludge that Gimli had, but he didn't think he would be able to stomach the stench if he were required to remain in Gimli's body for any protracted amount of time.

"Ready?" questioned the Ranger hobbit, smearing two streaks of black paint under his eyes. Everyone howled in anticipation, gathering around their new leader.

* * *

Meanwhile, Galadriel was enjoying her customary resort whenever things were not going as intended and she was vexed – a soothing, lengthy pampering session at her private spa! She had a rubdown, followed by an essential oil treatment, then basked in the sauna, after which she received a drawn out massage. Subsequently, she lounged in a poolside beach chair and had a facial, bidding the standard cucumber slices be placed over her eyes. All the spa attendants jumped to pander to her every whim, doing their utmost to maintain the tranquil, comforting atmosphere. Galadriel sipped her lemon-cucumber water and absorbed the attention, sighing happily, as the court musicians began to serenade her with lyres and pan-flutes.

* * *

"Alright," said Gandalf, rushing back, looking a bit flustered. "All I could get out of the elf I questioned was that Galadriel is in some sort of meeting."

"Where?" Aragorn inquired worriedly, scratching at his chin out of habit. He hated feeling his face these days. He was still shaken each time he expected to find his manly stubble and was greeted instead with the smoothness of a prepubescent boy.

The other Fellowship members, who had all grown somewhat weary of the delay, began to rise, eager for their precarious plan to commence. It was twilight, as their preparations had taken a good deal of time, but the obscurity of the night could only assist in the stealth of their strategy. Before Gandalf could reply to Aragorn's question, they all heard Pippin shriek with apparent terror. Eyes immediately darting to the form of the ranger, they watched in bewilderment as he unexpectedly sprinted away toward the more densely populated portion of the city, flailing his arms and squealing unintelligibly in a girly voice.

"Galadriel must be possessing him!" Aragorn cried in horror, taking off after the departing hobbit-turned-ranger. Gandalf swiftly reached down and seized him firmly by the back of his cloak. "Fool of a Too—!" the wizard began, then stopped short. "Uh, your pardon, Aragorn. I still tend to misremember who's who. But you don't really think you could overtake him with the lead he has, and in the body of a hobbit? He'll be caught, but we don't all need to be."

"But he's got my body!" protested Aragorn in anguish, still struggling to escape Gandalf's firm grasp.

Boromir spoke up. "Gandalf is right. Let him go. We should carry on with the plan before something else happens."

Abruptly, Merry/Sam jumped up, shrieked, and raced towards the city.

"Get him!" hollered at least four Fellowship members simultaneously. Gimli/Legolas managed to catch up with the fleeing hobbit and drag him back by his hood. Merry was rambling on and on about "glass fogging up" and "getting to the post office on time."

Gandalf, being the not so nice, all-business wizard that he was, had no time for such nonsense. "Snap out of it!" he demanded, snatching up a nearby stick and using it to whack at Merry (well, Sam). Surprisingly, it worked. Merry opened Sam's eyes and stared around bewilderedly, finally recognizing his dusk-shrouded surroundings and the discourteous wizard, still grasping the offending stick. "Gandalf?"

"Yes, yes," said Gandalf, hurriedly. "We have no time. How she is doing this, I don't know, but we must stop her!"

"Hear, hear!"

* * *

In the distance, Frodo/Boromir could hear a peculiar, gurgling voice singing a short, rhythmic song. Something about a rock and pool being nice and cool. "What is it, precious? Yes, what is it, we wonders?" the deranged Gondorian Hobbit questioned aloud as he hobbled towards the voice.

Frodo concealed himself behind the trees as best he could, peeking out to catch a glimpse of the singer. However, his newly acquired full-sized human body made stealth much more difficult. At the sound of a twig snapping, the strangely familiar creature jumped in surprise, shrilling, "Aaarrrrgh! It wasn't us! It wasn't us!"

Though Frodo was quite demented at this point, even he could see the resemblance between himself and Gollum. He hopped over to the skinny, pathetic creature in as friendly a manner as he could manage. Sméagol, meanwhile, was also curious about this large human's aberrant behavior, which he noted was strangely similar to his own, and therefore did not flee.

"What is it, precious?" Frodo hissed, inspecting Gollum, who was eyeing him equally suspiciously. "Yes, what is it, my love?"

Sméagol sniffed at Frodo and decided that he wouldn't be much good to eat, assuming that he could have bested the lanky and ferocious-looking human in a fight. Frodo, meanwhile, surmised that the diminutive, emaciated creature wouldn't make much of a meal either, despite his famished state.

Gollum finally broke the silence. "What does it wants, my precious? Does it wants to eats our juicy fishes, eh?"

Frodo thought to himself that eating "juicy fishes" sounded like a marvelous idea. However, since he was unable to catch any himself, he had only one option if he wanted to do so. "Get us fishes, my precious!" he hissed fiercely, laboring fruitlessly to stand up to his full height. "Catch us tasty fishes, or we eats it! We eats the nasty little frog for dinner. Yes, we does, my precious! Gollum, Gollum!" He licked his lips, bared his sharpened teeth convincingly, and lunged toward Sméagol, who recoiled in genuine fear.

The real Gollum gulped, looked askance once or twice, as if preparing to make a quick escape, and seeing none, finally slinked back toward the riverside, keeping a wary eye on this cantankerous, demanding, enormous version of himself. Secretly, however, he was reluctant to leave Frodo, either because he had finally found a creature that eerily resembled him… or, more likely, because the insidious allure of the Ring had at last drawn the two possessed beings together with an almost magnetic attraction.

* * *

Galadriel gave a deep sigh of frustration as three of her women servants finished covering her in her weekly, youthful skin preserving, therapeutic wrap. "Why haven't they found those disrespectful fools yet?" she yelled, as two cucumber slices were placed over her eyes. "They could not have gotten far. They are fools, but they are not stupid! I am sure they know that if they leave here they lose all chance of ever returning to normal!"

The three servants worked in silence, listening to their lady rant and rave, afraid that they might say something wrong and upset her all the more. Galadriel carried on, unaware that the infamous crew was actually right outside her window.

* * *

"Why do we have to wear these stupid hats?" Gimli/Legolas complained, pointing to the tinfoil cone on top of his head.

"Because Galadriel's mind powers are useless against the power of tinfoil!" Gandalf retorted, as he adjusted his similar hat. "Now hush! Before you give us all away!"

Gimli muttered, crossing Legolas' arms. "I feel like a dunce."

"You _are_ a dunce if you think this'll work," Boromir murmured. He glanced at the rest of the company's outlandish getup, shaking his head in disbelief. Aside from their refulgent tinfoil hats, they were perfectly camouflaged, and it was unlikely they would be noticed, even if Galadriel happened to look their way. But was this even worth it? He'd never live this down.

"Now," said Aragorn, just above a whisper, "the plan is very simple. On the count of three, we all swarm in there and snatch her. Then we escape out the window again and take her some place where we can force her to switch us back. Capisce?"

The group nodded, steeling themselves for the brief countdown that would send them piling into the chamber.

Legolas grimaced and smashed his foil hat down firmer onto his head. Then he fixed Gimli's hat. He hated seeing himself looking like a kook, but he supposed it was preferable to watching his body rushing away, flailing its arms. It made him feel a bit creepy, the thought. There she was, lounging on a beach chair getting beauty treatments, yet somehow, she was capable of invading their brains. It was psycho.

"Private Legolas!" Aragorn whispered urgently. "Give me your mirror!"

Legolas/Gimli nodded and whipped out a small hand mirror from his pocket. "Here, sir!" he replied in a similar tone.

Taking the mirror, Aragorn used it to peer into the spa room. Galadriel appeared to have cucumbers over her eyes and be in some kind of full-body wrap. That might prove to their advantage. The hobbitish ranger tossed the mirror back to its owner and crouched down facing the window, like a sprinter preparing for the starting gun. "One… two… THREE!"

The demented Fellowship sprang haphazardly through the window, though not all of them with equal success. Two of the shorter members, namely Merry/Sam and Sam/Merry, seemed to have become high centered on the lower window-frame. How, no one could guess. Legolas and Gimli took it upon themselves to lug the floundering hobbits down inside the room, and they all stalked toward Galadriel.

"Milady, trouble… milady!" the spa attendants cried, backing away from the disturbing figures that were approaching. The Fellowship realized that they all looked like somewhat shapeless, muck-covered blobs with protruding leafy branches here and there… and incongruous, shiny dunce caps. No wonder the attendants were alarmed.

Once the altered assemblage had encircled the reclining Lady of Light, who seemed to be ignoring her attendants' warnings, Aragorn took a moment to clear his throat. A long moment. Still, Galadriel didn't stir or say a word.

"Alright, troops!" Aragorn growled, having perhaps taken his "military efficiency" goal a bit far. "Grab her, and let's di di mau!"

"Where are we taking her again?" asked Boromir, giving the pretense of ignorance because he derived a twisted amusement from irritating Aragorn.

Aragorn gave him a look that should have never, under any circumstances, come near Pippin's face. "How many times have we gone over this now, Private Boromir? I should make you BEAT YOUR FACE! But we don't have time. We're takin' 'er to the bush, the boondocks, get it? Get it, you _rocks_? Now move it!"

Everyone looked at Aragorn in confusion. His gruffness and terse speech were certainly uncharacteristic.

"Uh... sure," Boromir replied.

The Fellowship surrounded Galadriel and dogpiled her, hoisting her stiff, immobilized form above their heads. The maidens just stepped back and watched, unsure of what to do.

"Onward, men!" shouted Aragorn, gesturing brusquely back toward the window.

"Great Galadhrim!" Legolas moaned, finding himself crammed between Boromir and Gandalf, beneath Galadriel. "She's _heavy_!"

The Hobbits were little help, as they couldn't even reach Galadriel to start with, and were actually more of a hindrance, as they kept getting in the way and were almost trampled. Nonetheless, they pretended to assist. Sam and Merry, in particular, made a great show of pulling the others toward the window and echoing everything Aragorn said, just in case the force happened to forget anything in the ensuing seconds after a command. The felonious Fellowship eventually succeeded in lobbing Galadriel out the window, onto the small veranda, and jumped out behind her. Of course, the Hobbits got high-centered again…

* * *

Celeborn had effectively managed to elude the pursuing elven guards, although the elven lord's monkey-brained body was another matter altogether. They caught the wild and ungainly "ape-elf" within half an hour, largely thanks to an innovative plan involving bananas and cage traps… But the _real_ Celeborn's monkey form and elven brain were a plus, as he could quickly swing high into the trees, move rapidly between them, and edge into small crevasses as needed. Taking advantage of this, he was able to escape into a concealed air vent that led straight into Galadriel's top-secret lab beneath the city. He had initially thought it was a rabbit hole, leaving him quite surprised and overjoyed to discover the truth!

"An antidote!" cried the elven lord with hopeful relief. "She _must_ have an antidote down here!" He shambled eagerly toward a large, round, stone room lined with dozens and dozens of levels of wooden shelves, stocked with an eye-dazzling array of multicolored, scintillating potions.

* * *

Meanwhile, the Fellowship had miraculously negotiated the towering mallorn tree and scrambled off into the dense bushes with their prize. They were all panting heavily, especially Gandalf and Legolas/Gimli, as they were performing the majority of the lifting.

"Ouch!" yelped Boromir/Frodo. "Watch where you're stepping, you maladroit fiend!"

"Sorry," Gimli/Legolas grunted. "I'm not well adjusted to this dainty, wimpy, pretty-boy's—"

Legolas coughed vigorously, released Galadriel, and shot a significant glare at the dwarven elf. Then he whipped out a handy pair of scissors and gestured threateningly at his mud-encrusted beard. "You were saying?"

Gimli stared in poorly disguised horror.

"I'll do it…" Legolas warned, snipping the scissors once or twice for good measure. "Don't you think I won't!"

Gimli muttered something unintelligible, then provided the correct response. "…dainty, elegant, nimble, beautiful, body." Something about lauding the elf felt slightly _wrong_, but he reminded himself that among his own people, such adjectives were actually insults. This improved his mood substantially, and even turned up the corners of his elven mouth slightly.

Legolas stuffed the scissors away in some grubby fold of his dwarven tunic, appeased, and the group moved deeper into the verdant, untamed portion of the woodland. "Far enough!" he whined, roughly two minutes later, dwarven chest heaving. "Far enough. Can't go on… another step…."

"We're about sixty feet from the Royal Mallorn, Legolas," Aragorn/Pippin stated, looking pointedly back where they'd come. Sure enough, the twinkling, bluish fairy lights glimmered mystically above them, hardly a couple stone's throws away.

"At least Aragorn's finally dropped that ridiculous 'army-man' guise," Gandalf muttered, aged limbs quivering as he struggled to hold up the elven queen while Legolas whimpered about his exhaustion.

"I'm in a dwarf's body!" the elven dwarf wailed dramatically. "How do you expect me to have endless endurance in a dumpy, pudgy, out of shape, dwarf's body? And you guys are holding her up so high, I can barely reach…."

"Ah, dwarf up, you—you—elf!" Gimli sputtered, shoving the elven dwarf.

"Just as soon as you show a _hint _of elven refinement, you slob!" Legolas shot back, jabbing the dwarven elf with an elbow (carefully, so as not to result in any bruising).

Gimli leered at the face that used to be his own and uttered one massive harrumph, for lack of any other suitably witty comeback. When would this humiliation end? If he had to be an elf for just _one_ more day, he knew for sure he would go off his nut.

"Do these two never cease?" Gandalf inquired of no one in particular. He was deeply questioning, as he often had before his demise and rebirth, Elrond's logic in pairing up rival races on a dangerous and imperative road-trip. He pondered whether an orc member of the fellowship might not have got along better with the others than Legolas and Gimli, despite the decidedly ridiculous nature of such a scenario.

"Any idea where Aragorn—uh, Pippin—went?" Sam asked, though the voice came from Merry. "If she changes us all back, will it work if he's not with us?"

"Don't worry, Sam," Aragorn reassured. "I am certain Galadriel's powers are just as effective over long range."

The beleaguered Fellowship finally reached a satisfactory stopping place, behind a largely nondescript, but otherwise poufy and green, bush, and allowed their burden to plummet, producing a thunderous "KA-THUNK."

"Now what?" asked Sam/Merry.


	5. Chapter 5

**Chapter V**

_A/N: Thanks, readers, for a fun (if a bit long) ride. I started this story when I was 15. I am now 23. Hey, at least I finish what I start. I hope you enjoy the conclusion._

_Mr. Spock: Fascinating, but illogical._

_Me: What, the story?_

_Mr. Spock: Obviously. The behavior of the female monarch is capricious at best, and belies her reputation as the allegedly "wisest and fairest" of her species._

_Me: Who said anything about this story being logical?! And what're you doing here anyway?_

_Mr. Spock: To borrow the human vernacular, I'm shamelessly plugging your new LotR/Star Trek crossover fic._

_Me: Ok, you have fun with that. These people have been waiting for the conclusion of this story for eight years!_

_Mr. Spock: A relatively short span of time, in the grand scheme of..._

_Me: To quote a stupid commercial, "Roll that beautiful bean footage!" _

* * *

Aragorn glanced at the others, unsure of what to say, when suddenly, a shadowy figure burst out of the bushes beside them.

The Fellowship uttered various cries of surprise and distress, which were swiftly cut off when they saw that the newcomer was only a smallish animal. That is to say, all except for Merry/Sam. His pathetic keening carried on for several protracted seconds after the others' had ceased. Sam clamped Merry's hand over his mouth.

"Open your–er… _my_ eyes, Merry!" Sam ordered. "It's just a monkey."

"Mon-monkey?" Merry stammered, squinting at the long-armed form dragging its knuckles as it shambled into their midst, favoring its left side. "Oh. I knew that."

The monkey seemed to be clutching a faintly glowing, greenish object in its right hand, which was why its gait was so irregular. It stopped, held the object – which turned out to be a small vial – aloft, and spoke, in the measured, sagacious speech of Celeborn.

"I've found it!" he reveled. "The solution to our predicament!" He scrutinized the odd cocoon lying prone beside him, and then nodded with a monkey smirk unmistakable even in the obscurity. "My Lady, the queen. From what heights you have descended! Well, anyway, I've found the antidote."

Legolas' and Gimli's eyes brightened at the word "antidote." Momentarily frozen, they suddenly lunged toward the monkey.

"Hand it over!" they shouted in unison. However, they were too slow. Celeborn leapt up and propelled himself off the backs of both their heads. They subsequently grubbed embarrassingly into the grass with their foreheads.

"Fools!" the monkey snapped, hopping onto Gandalf's shoulder and holding the vial safely behind him. "Do you want to return to your former selves or not?! This is not child's play! The potion must be handled with care!"

Legolas and Gimli sheepishly got to their feet, rubbing their grass-stained heads.

"You are right, milord," Legolas/Gimli said, humble and contrite. "Forgive me. I think I am going mad in this dwarven body."

"As am I in this elvish body!" Gimli chimed in. "I need _body hair_! I need a _beard_! I'll explode if I have to stay in this perfect body for one more minute. Especially now that the solution is right there in your hands!"

"I, too, greatly desire to return to my true self," Celeborn replied, lightly tapping the vial for emphasis, "but we must proceed with more caution. Still, there is little time to waste. Haldir and the others are on the hunt for us all, and could show up at any moment. Now, as for who shall have the antidote first, I see two clear volunteers. However, know that there is no guarantee that this will work. For all I know, my clever wife might have mislabeled it."

"Did you? _Did_ you?" Legolas and Gimli demanded, nudging the supine Lady of Light accusingly with their boots. She mumbled something indistinct and fixed them with an icy glare.

"Leave off," Aragorn/Pippin ordered. "Just imagine what Lord Elrond would think if his specially appointed 'Fellowship of the Ring' returned to him transformed into toads… or some other foul creatures. He would most likely discontinue dealings with Lothlórien's queen for good."

Galadriel emitted a noise that sounded remarkably like a suppressed sigh, and shook her head slightly. None present were exactly certain what this indicated, but time was running out as surely as water from an upended pail.

"Just a drop now," the sagacious monkey advised, extending the vial toward the manifestly-eager-but-trying-to-hide-it dwarf and elf. "And be careful about it. If you break it—"

"We won't," Legolas reassured, though it wasn't very reassuring. The elven dwarf slowly tilted the scintillating glass vial up and allowed a drop of the glistening, oddly hued liquid to drip into his mouth. His companion impatiently snatched the antidote and did likewise. The others held their breaths in nervous anticipation, eyes fixed on the guinea pigs.

The dwarf made a strange face. Then the elf made a strange face. It looked as if they had just sunken their teeth into ripe lemons. The others gasped audibly and waited for them to begin the transformation into lizards or spiders.

"Relax," laughed Legolas. "It just has a nasty flavor, that's all."

"Tastes kind of like… moldy cram," Gimli added.

"You _would_ eat moldy cram, wouldn't you?" Legolas sneered, rolling his unintentionally-borrowed eyes.

Galadriel's pale blue eyes turned both mildly ashamed and beseeching, but Celeborn paid her little heed. She clearly hated to feel so powerless, and under any other circumstances, she might have behaved in a desperate fashion to escape her captors' clutches. But she finally saw that her cruel "joke" had run its course, and inflicting her more potent and injurious powers upon the Fellowship would have surely been frowned upon by the other great minds of Middle-earth. After all, she had a reputation to keep up.

"Fine, whatever," she told them all telepathically, as there was still tape over her mouth. "Everybody take the silly potion. I'm sick of this freak-show anyway. Don't you think I have better things to do?"

Celeborn smirked and she made a strange "hmmm-hmmmm"-ing noise at him.

"Now let me out of this body wrap!" she continued, inside their heads. "This is so undignified. I feel like the world's largest immobile caterpillar."

"We'll let you out, Galaddy," said Legolas/Gimli, grinning, "right after we are ourselves again."

The change was hardly noticeable. It looked as if nothing had happened, except that, suddenly, Legolas' voice was coming from the right body and the elf was hopping up and down, screaming with relief, admiring himself, and kissing his own hands. "Oh, how I've missed me!" he said, sobbing.

Gimli's celebration was slightly more restrained. He looked down at himself, shrugged, then started back to the camp to grab his magical dwarf beard tonic. Legolas noted, with disgust, that he paused briefly to wallow in the only (but very famous) mud puddle in the Forest City. "Gah! Dwarves! Unbelievable."

Galadriel's prizewinning birdbath was conveniently close, so Legolas splashed some water on his hands and flicked the droplets dismissively at Gimli. "I wash my hands of you." A mud pie caught him in the back of the head. Legolas turned about, slowly, with a look that said he would kill dead whatever unfortunate soul had _dared_ splat him with a pastry of wet soil. Whether or not he succeeded, this author does not know.

Pippin and Aragorn also switched back with little incident. Pippin, who had taken Aragorn's body into the city and had been busy there, running into a wall over and over again, was kissing the ground for no apparent reason. Aragorn, who had raced to join the others as soon as his mind was switched back into the correct body, looked at Pippin strangely and shook his head, sending his shaggy locks bouncing. Arwen then appeared out of nowhere, as she couldn't resist Aragorn's rangerly studliness, and grabbed him from behind. They kissed passionately, and Merry covered Pippin's eyes.

Gandalf just shrugged, feeling suddenly very fabulous and fashionable in his pink, fur-trimmed bathrobe.

Celeborn had a more difficult time of it, however. He found himself in the dungeon, where his monkey minded body had been. He climbed down from the lamp bracket, snatched up the toilet bucket, and began scraping it along the bars of the cell. "Hey! Hey! Let me out! It's me! It's Celeborn. Your _Lord_ Celeborn, that is."

The guards came running. One of them swung the key ring around his finger annoyingly. "Are you sure you're Lord Celeborn? Weren't you just swinging from the lamp a moment ago?"

"Gah!" Celeborn exploded. "That wasn't _me_. My brain was switched with a monkey, you dolt! Galadriel set me up. Now let me out, will ya?"

"Fine, I'll let you out. Personally, I think you were more charming _before_ she switched you back."

"That's it, you're out of a job, turnkey!" Celeborn fumed. "Now let me out or I'll be forced to use my über-awesome elf lord powers on you. You want to spend the rest of your life _dead_? Hmm? That's what I thought."

Boromir and Frodo's switch back, however, was perhaps the worst of all. Frodo, as you may recall, had taken Boromir's body into a cave, gone berserk and turned into Sméagol Lite, and then met the real Sméagol. Upon returning to his correct body, his mental illness inexplicably passed. Being away from the Ring, which was still with Boromir's body, had cleared his head.

Boromir, however, found himself in the woods by a stream, eating raw fish. "Ptooey!" He spat out a mouthful of cold, slimy, raw flesh. "Ohhhhh! That's just nasty!" He looked down and, horrified, took in his emaciated limbs and tattered clothing. "That foul Halfling! That foul, foul Halfling! Look what he's done to me! I'll teach him! I'll teach him!"

In his blind rage, he failed to notice Sméagol sitting at the river's edge, staring at him quizzically. Boromir leapt to his feet, and feeling rather weak, staggered back toward Lothlórien, foaming at the mouth.

When he reached the night-shrouded city, he immediately spotted the Fellowship, who all looked very pleased with themselves. They were clapping each other on the backs and munching dried figs and laughing. This made him even more furious, since they had no right to be happy when he was a wreck.

"Gahhhhhhhhhh!" he screeched, leaping with incredible strength toward Frodo. "I'll kill you!"

Aragorn pulled himself away from Arwen and slapped Boromir down like a kid in Wal-Mart. "Who're you?" he asked, somewhat freaked out.

"Who do you think, you box o' rocks?!" Boromir frothed.

"Oh," said Aragorn, recognizing the hate-filled voice.

"And it's all _his_ fault I look like this!" Boromir continued, on the verge of sobs. "He tried to kill me, that's what he did!"

"It was the Ring," explained Frodo, looking very timid. "Since I was in his body, I wasn't as resistant to its power. I went crazy! It wasn't my fault."

"Then whose fault is it, I'd like to know?" cried Boromir.

"It's the Ring's fault!" Frodo tried.

"The Ring?!" said Boromir, pausing a moment, looking rather thoughtful. Then his eyes flamed up. "I'll kill it! I'll kill that foul, sneaking little piece of metal! Where is it? Where is it?" He began groping at Frodo's clothes, which was rather disturbing.

Aragorn grabbed Boromir again. "Cut it out, Boromir! Don't ya know that's the whole purpose of this quest, you idiot?!"

"Oh."

"Now we'll take a few more days here to recover, and I'm sure Lady Galadriel will lend us her best physicians to get you back on your feet. And to… uh… fix your baldness we'll…"

"We'll use my dwarf hair-growth tonic!" Gimli cried, holding up a glistening potion bottle proudly.

"Yay!" said the Hobbits, seizing a moment to dispel the tension.

"Okay," said Boromir, defeated. "But when we're on our way again, Ima kill that confounded ring! Ima kill it dead! Got that?"

"Yes, Boromir," said Aragorn, yawning. "Now let's get you to the medical ward."

And thus the Fellowship, restored to their original selves and having resolved all major conflicts (whilst leaving minor ones unresolved for laziness' sake), turned their thoughts once more to the Quest of the Ring. And all was well in the canon Middle-earth again, except for the occasional comment between Legolas and Gimli about being "ugly" or a "sissy" and so forth. And the fact that Celeborn treated monkeys with high regard thereafter. And the fact that Gandalf the White went before Théoden King in a pink bathrobe with fur trim. And the fact that Boromir hated the Ring with a purple passion thenceforth and therefore didn't try to take it from Frodo, and therefore didn't end up dying 'cause the Fellowship didn't split up when the Uruk-hai attacked. Much better ending. You're welcome.

THE END


End file.
